When you asked me if there was still something there, I wonder if you heard the hesitation in my voice before I said, "No." Did you hear the wistfulness overflowing? You laughed and joked around, asking me once more. I said it again, this time without hesitation. And yet . . . why do I smile when I see you calling? Did you ever once ask why I still take your midnight calls?
In a few weeks I get to see you again. I wonder what that will be like. Will it be the same as always? I see you, I smile, we laugh together. Everything is easy; it always is. I settle into a familiar contentness, only you. You're with someone else. Bad timing. It always was. I was too late and you were too early. I didn't notice, until the moment had passed by. I wonder if we would have stood a chance? Probably not, but there's always that "what if?" I wonder if you know the questions I ask myself now and then.
Why do we wish for the things we can never have? Why is it all so complicated and yet so simple? A million and one questions, yet the same answer to each one.
Because we were once and always have been . . . friends.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Friday, December 7, 2012
Not All That Glitters is Gold
There comes a time in some relationships where you finally give up trying. You don’t stop caring about the person, you just become indifferent to the things they do. There comes a point in time where you dread every phone call, wondering what you’ll fight about this time. You’re worn out, tired, exhausted. You can only try for so long before you want to give up right?
There’s not really any one person you can blame for this. If you tried, the blame would be on both sides, saying things that hurt the other, twisting the proverbial knife in the heart. Say it once, it’s a mistake. Say it twice, it becomes intentional. Yet, at the end of each fight, you make up. Somewhere along the way, the pain turns into smiles and laughter. But it’s not long before it all falls apart in just a matter of time.
That relationship finally faded away. Sometimes, I call but it usually never ends well. Not surprising, I guess. In the end, you’re left wondering why it happened in the first place. What did I learn? Why was it ever worth it? If I ever do put that story up, will it be clouded by the pain and sadness that came after? This is not a reverse Cinderella story. Although those never ended well, they didn’t have a darkness to them. Frustration, sure. Annoying? Definitely. But dark? Never.
In the end, it left a bitter aftertaste in my heart. It makes it harder to trust, to trust that someone won’t break your heart. You see the world just a little bit differently, a little colder. The one saving grace is the friends that stood by me through it all. The friendships that last, the ones that made me laugh again. The friends that pushed me to go out with them and pulled me out of the darkness. Cheers to the friendships that lift us up in dark times, that remind us to smile again, and the ones that teach you how to dance.
So I end this random gloomy piece with a little quote that I so love:
“This is my wish for you: Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth, Love to complete your life.”
There’s not really any one person you can blame for this. If you tried, the blame would be on both sides, saying things that hurt the other, twisting the proverbial knife in the heart. Say it once, it’s a mistake. Say it twice, it becomes intentional. Yet, at the end of each fight, you make up. Somewhere along the way, the pain turns into smiles and laughter. But it’s not long before it all falls apart in just a matter of time.
That relationship finally faded away. Sometimes, I call but it usually never ends well. Not surprising, I guess. In the end, you’re left wondering why it happened in the first place. What did I learn? Why was it ever worth it? If I ever do put that story up, will it be clouded by the pain and sadness that came after? This is not a reverse Cinderella story. Although those never ended well, they didn’t have a darkness to them. Frustration, sure. Annoying? Definitely. But dark? Never.
In the end, it left a bitter aftertaste in my heart. It makes it harder to trust, to trust that someone won’t break your heart. You see the world just a little bit differently, a little colder. The one saving grace is the friends that stood by me through it all. The friendships that last, the ones that made me laugh again. The friends that pushed me to go out with them and pulled me out of the darkness. Cheers to the friendships that lift us up in dark times, that remind us to smile again, and the ones that teach you how to dance.
So I end this random gloomy piece with a little quote that I so love:
“This is my wish for you: Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth, Love to complete your life.”
Monday, December 3, 2012
We met, we talked, it was epic . . .
“We met, we talked, it was epic. But the sun came up and reality set it.”
The last night of freshman year, my friends and I had just finished our last final on Saturday and decided to celebrate. I had finally convinced my friend, Kayla, to go out with me that night. That night, Kayla, George (a friend of hers), and I went out downtown. First stop, a bar called the Rookery which at the time was THE place to go out to. We left a little late so by the time we got there, it was pretty jam-packed. We stood in our little circle by the bar talking. About six feet away I see a relatively attractive guy. Me being me, I give him a once over. While I’m doing that, however, he catches me checking him out.
All the girls out there, you know what I’m talking about when I say flirting with the eyes. If there was one thing I was trying to avoid, it was that. You make eye contact with a guy, you can get an idea of whether or not he’s interested. Hold eye contact long enough he will come over, which was what I was trying to avoid that night. I must have looked too long because he headed over with his friend.
“Hi”
“Hi”
“What’s your name?”
. . .
You can imagine the rest of that conversation. Turns out though, his friend is a news broadcaster for a local network. George, at this point, was at the bar trying to get a drink, amid the thirty other people trying to get a drink that night. When he finally got his drink, he saw Kayla and I talking to these two guys. I must look like I needed help. The next thing I know, George has his arm around me and starts talking to the two guys. The two guys got the picture and moved off towards other prey. I felt bad for them.
Approaching a person of the opposite sex takes quite a bit of courage. For all the guys out there, don’t stop trying! It is better to have tried and failed than never have tried at all. Take it from a girl who still waits for the guy to make a move. One piece of advice though: come up with better pickup lines or smoother ways of approaching a girl! The whole come up from behind and try grinding or the “Hey . . .” gets tiring real quick.
A little later, we see a friend of ours, Nebila, head over to the bar. Bubbly, charming, a great dancer, and a social butterfly, she looked out of breathe and definitely intoxicated. When she saw us, she bounced right on over. I asked,
“Hey, how’s your night going?”
“Terrible! I came out with the guys and Juan won’t leave me alone. He keeps trying to dance with me. Do me a favor, save me next time!”
As timing would have it, Juan came over less than a minute after she said that and grabbed her for a dance. Kayla and I looked at each other.
“Wanna be the knights in shining armor tonight?”
“Sure, why not.”
So we headed towards the dance floor and do the classic “save” i.e. grabbed Nebila and started dancing with her. That pretty much summed up the remainder of our night at the Rookery. At closing time, the bar started shutting down and people milled towards the doors. Even then, you can’t end a night without standing outside talking to people for another ten, fifteen minutes.
This is the part where my memory turns a bit fuzzy. Somehow, I went from talking to Nebila and Kayla to talking to a guy, Andre. I think and this is a big IF, Nebila introduced me to him. I had seen him multiple times on campus before this and every time, he had this intimidating scowl on his face. Needless to say, I always considered him unapproachable. As we talked, we discovered we had a lot of friends in common. We had been to most of the same parties. At this point, he asked, “How have we not met before?”
“I don’t know. By the way, are you Hispanic?”
“No, I’m half black and half Swedish. You got a problem with that?”
I laugh and reply, “Nope, not at all.”
That was the moment I knew that this would be a rather interesting friendship.
“We’re having a party at back at my house. You’re welcome to come over.”
I turn to look at Kayla, the DD for the night. She shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”
That became the theme of our friendship, but that’s another couple of stories.
All I knew that night was I did not want to stop talking to him, so I asked for his address. We headed out and ironically, we were the first to get there. Not going to lie, it felt a little shady in general. The neighborhood was a little run down. As soon as Nebila and my friend John showed up, I felt a little better at ease. Pretty soon, even more people showed up, people I knew. The way the house is set up, it is where you have the road, some steps leading up, the walkway leading up to the steps of the house, porch, and finally, the door. Kayla being tired wanted to leave after a while, so I asked John and Nebila to drop me back home. They agreed and she left.
There was something in the air that night, something that words can't capture completely. Whatever it was, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. It felt as though I had gone back six years in time. Growing up, my parents would throw parties at our house in New York. When we were kids, we would sit or stand around outside on the front porch, talking, joking around on those random summer nights. Sometimes, it feels like a lifetime ago. This night, however, felt like one of those Indian summer nights.
I wished the night wouldn’t end, that we would be transfixed in this little block of time. Yet, nothing ever lasts forever. People eventually began to leave. Andre and I went back inside the house, where he gave me a tour of his place. When we got to his room, we sat down on his couch and talked. That is when I notice he has a wooden rosary hanging on one of the walls. I turn to him, surprised.
“Wait, you’re Catholic?”
“Yup, how’d you know?”
“Well, last time I checked it’s usually only Catholics that have rosaries. Plus, I’m Catholic.”
This launches a whole conversation on how an Indian girl and her entire family could possibly be Catholic, which lead into a little history splurge on my family’s background. He says, “You know, I have been mistaken for Indian before.”
Hispanic, mixed, and maybe Egyptian I could I understand, but definitely not Indian. I said as much. Then, he launched into a story. Earlier in undergrad, he became friends with this Indian guy, who presume Andre was Indian. Andre being Andre, never denied nor confirmed this. He just went with it. One day, the guy asked him if he was going to the temple for some religious holiday or another, or something like that. Andre said he wasn’t since he isn’t Hindu but Catholic instead. The guy was surprised. Eventually, the truth comes out. The Indian guy more or less stopped talking to him afterwards. Hearing that story, I got mad on his behalf and told him as much. He laughed. I told him, “Not all of us are like that.”
“This coming from the girl who looked disappointed when I said I wasn’t Hispanic?”
“It’s not my fault you can get mistaken for Hispanic.”
This launched us into a discussion of all the different things we had been mistaken for. For me, that list included Middle Easter, Hispanic, Indian, and Pakistani. His was pretty close in nature, whereupon I told him the most ridiculous assumption I had heard.
“Someone once told me that I looked Mexican, if it weren’t for the fact that I looked too tall to be Mexican.”
That got a laugh out of him. Time flew by as we talked on that couch. Eventually, John and Nebila found us, telling me it was time to leave. But, I didn’t want to leave this stranger, this surprisingly charismatic man that I ran into on a random night out. Andre turned to me and asked, “Do you want to leave right now? I can take you home later if you want.”
Some people may call this foolish and others dangerous, but I trusted him, a guy I had met only a few hours ago. I nodded and turned to John and Nebila, “Is it ok if he takes me home?”
John simply shrugged. Nebila laughed and said, “Ok but Andre, you better get our girl home safe!” We hugged and said our goodbyes. I watched them leave before turning back to Andre. He suggested that we move outside, since the porch swing was now available. So, we went outside and continued our talks there.
I told him about my family, my parents, my brothers, and my large extended family. He told me his back-story. His mother was black, while his father was Swedish. They had gotten divorced when he was young. His father moved back to Sweden, remarried, and had a new family. My new friend never really had a relationship with his dad. When he was in elementary school, his mother had a heart attack. It meant growing up for him and having to take care of her instead of the other way around.
It made me look at him a little differently after hearing that. Not necessarily pity him for the hardships he went through, but rather I admired him for not coming out fucked up, for turning out better than most would expect. They say that what does not kill you only makes you stronger. I guess that was the case for him, especially considering he had gone to a Catholic school growing up. Especially that.
Our conversation was as random as our meeting and just as sarcastic at times. It was a very discombobulated conversation. Being half Swedish and half black, I was surprised he was only 5”9 and said as much. So how did a guy who should have been 6” plus end up being 5”9? He launched into another story.
When he was younger, the doctor had said he would probably grow to be at least six feet tall. Growing up he had played many sports, soccer being his favorite. It also meant he had started weight lifting rather young. This in turn stunted his growth, leaving him at 5”9.
Somewhere along the course of that story, I had started snuggling into his shoulder. In my defense, it was a little chilly outside, as chilly as it gets at 4 or 5 a.m. in May. Of course, he noticed and being him, commented on that in the midst of our conversation.
“Look at you trying to leech the warmth out of me!”
I made a mock cry of protest. Before I could start arguing, he went back inside, got his sweater (or maybe it was a jacket) and threw it over me. Quite the gentleman, a rough version but a gentleman nevertheless.
We sat there talking for what seemed like forever. We saw the sunrise together and even had a little argument about what constitutes as sunrise. I said it was the moment you saw the sun. He argued it was the minute the darkness lifted. We kept at it for a good ten minutes. The entire time I could not stop smiling. We talked through the night and into the morning. Around 7 a.m. his friends came outside, asking us if we wanted to go get some food. I had to leave in another hour. Checkout time from the dorm was 8:30 a.m. so I asked Andre to drop me back.
As he dropped me off in front of my building, I turned and gave him a big hug. I couldn’t help but think, it was a hug I didn’t want to leave. I went back to my room, took a nap, woke up a hour later to pack, and left. That was the end of my freshman year and it was a pretty great ending to a pretty amazing year.
We met, we talked, and it was epic. The sun rose and reality set in. I left for home and he left for Europe. We went our separate ways. But that was never the end of our story.
Reality, it seems, is still the here and now.
The last night of freshman year, my friends and I had just finished our last final on Saturday and decided to celebrate. I had finally convinced my friend, Kayla, to go out with me that night. That night, Kayla, George (a friend of hers), and I went out downtown. First stop, a bar called the Rookery which at the time was THE place to go out to. We left a little late so by the time we got there, it was pretty jam-packed. We stood in our little circle by the bar talking. About six feet away I see a relatively attractive guy. Me being me, I give him a once over. While I’m doing that, however, he catches me checking him out.
All the girls out there, you know what I’m talking about when I say flirting with the eyes. If there was one thing I was trying to avoid, it was that. You make eye contact with a guy, you can get an idea of whether or not he’s interested. Hold eye contact long enough he will come over, which was what I was trying to avoid that night. I must have looked too long because he headed over with his friend.
“Hi”
“Hi”
“What’s your name?”
. . .
You can imagine the rest of that conversation. Turns out though, his friend is a news broadcaster for a local network. George, at this point, was at the bar trying to get a drink, amid the thirty other people trying to get a drink that night. When he finally got his drink, he saw Kayla and I talking to these two guys. I must look like I needed help. The next thing I know, George has his arm around me and starts talking to the two guys. The two guys got the picture and moved off towards other prey. I felt bad for them.
Approaching a person of the opposite sex takes quite a bit of courage. For all the guys out there, don’t stop trying! It is better to have tried and failed than never have tried at all. Take it from a girl who still waits for the guy to make a move. One piece of advice though: come up with better pickup lines or smoother ways of approaching a girl! The whole come up from behind and try grinding or the “Hey . . .” gets tiring real quick.
A little later, we see a friend of ours, Nebila, head over to the bar. Bubbly, charming, a great dancer, and a social butterfly, she looked out of breathe and definitely intoxicated. When she saw us, she bounced right on over. I asked,
“Hey, how’s your night going?”
“Terrible! I came out with the guys and Juan won’t leave me alone. He keeps trying to dance with me. Do me a favor, save me next time!”
As timing would have it, Juan came over less than a minute after she said that and grabbed her for a dance. Kayla and I looked at each other.
“Wanna be the knights in shining armor tonight?”
“Sure, why not.”
So we headed towards the dance floor and do the classic “save” i.e. grabbed Nebila and started dancing with her. That pretty much summed up the remainder of our night at the Rookery. At closing time, the bar started shutting down and people milled towards the doors. Even then, you can’t end a night without standing outside talking to people for another ten, fifteen minutes.
This is the part where my memory turns a bit fuzzy. Somehow, I went from talking to Nebila and Kayla to talking to a guy, Andre. I think and this is a big IF, Nebila introduced me to him. I had seen him multiple times on campus before this and every time, he had this intimidating scowl on his face. Needless to say, I always considered him unapproachable. As we talked, we discovered we had a lot of friends in common. We had been to most of the same parties. At this point, he asked, “How have we not met before?”
“I don’t know. By the way, are you Hispanic?”
“No, I’m half black and half Swedish. You got a problem with that?”
I laugh and reply, “Nope, not at all.”
That was the moment I knew that this would be a rather interesting friendship.
“We’re having a party at back at my house. You’re welcome to come over.”
I turn to look at Kayla, the DD for the night. She shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”
That became the theme of our friendship, but that’s another couple of stories.
All I knew that night was I did not want to stop talking to him, so I asked for his address. We headed out and ironically, we were the first to get there. Not going to lie, it felt a little shady in general. The neighborhood was a little run down. As soon as Nebila and my friend John showed up, I felt a little better at ease. Pretty soon, even more people showed up, people I knew. The way the house is set up, it is where you have the road, some steps leading up, the walkway leading up to the steps of the house, porch, and finally, the door. Kayla being tired wanted to leave after a while, so I asked John and Nebila to drop me back home. They agreed and she left.
There was something in the air that night, something that words can't capture completely. Whatever it was, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. It felt as though I had gone back six years in time. Growing up, my parents would throw parties at our house in New York. When we were kids, we would sit or stand around outside on the front porch, talking, joking around on those random summer nights. Sometimes, it feels like a lifetime ago. This night, however, felt like one of those Indian summer nights.
I wished the night wouldn’t end, that we would be transfixed in this little block of time. Yet, nothing ever lasts forever. People eventually began to leave. Andre and I went back inside the house, where he gave me a tour of his place. When we got to his room, we sat down on his couch and talked. That is when I notice he has a wooden rosary hanging on one of the walls. I turn to him, surprised.
“Wait, you’re Catholic?”
“Yup, how’d you know?”
“Well, last time I checked it’s usually only Catholics that have rosaries. Plus, I’m Catholic.”
This launches a whole conversation on how an Indian girl and her entire family could possibly be Catholic, which lead into a little history splurge on my family’s background. He says, “You know, I have been mistaken for Indian before.”
Hispanic, mixed, and maybe Egyptian I could I understand, but definitely not Indian. I said as much. Then, he launched into a story. Earlier in undergrad, he became friends with this Indian guy, who presume Andre was Indian. Andre being Andre, never denied nor confirmed this. He just went with it. One day, the guy asked him if he was going to the temple for some religious holiday or another, or something like that. Andre said he wasn’t since he isn’t Hindu but Catholic instead. The guy was surprised. Eventually, the truth comes out. The Indian guy more or less stopped talking to him afterwards. Hearing that story, I got mad on his behalf and told him as much. He laughed. I told him, “Not all of us are like that.”
“This coming from the girl who looked disappointed when I said I wasn’t Hispanic?”
“It’s not my fault you can get mistaken for Hispanic.”
This launched us into a discussion of all the different things we had been mistaken for. For me, that list included Middle Easter, Hispanic, Indian, and Pakistani. His was pretty close in nature, whereupon I told him the most ridiculous assumption I had heard.
“Someone once told me that I looked Mexican, if it weren’t for the fact that I looked too tall to be Mexican.”
That got a laugh out of him. Time flew by as we talked on that couch. Eventually, John and Nebila found us, telling me it was time to leave. But, I didn’t want to leave this stranger, this surprisingly charismatic man that I ran into on a random night out. Andre turned to me and asked, “Do you want to leave right now? I can take you home later if you want.”
Some people may call this foolish and others dangerous, but I trusted him, a guy I had met only a few hours ago. I nodded and turned to John and Nebila, “Is it ok if he takes me home?”
John simply shrugged. Nebila laughed and said, “Ok but Andre, you better get our girl home safe!” We hugged and said our goodbyes. I watched them leave before turning back to Andre. He suggested that we move outside, since the porch swing was now available. So, we went outside and continued our talks there.
I told him about my family, my parents, my brothers, and my large extended family. He told me his back-story. His mother was black, while his father was Swedish. They had gotten divorced when he was young. His father moved back to Sweden, remarried, and had a new family. My new friend never really had a relationship with his dad. When he was in elementary school, his mother had a heart attack. It meant growing up for him and having to take care of her instead of the other way around.
It made me look at him a little differently after hearing that. Not necessarily pity him for the hardships he went through, but rather I admired him for not coming out fucked up, for turning out better than most would expect. They say that what does not kill you only makes you stronger. I guess that was the case for him, especially considering he had gone to a Catholic school growing up. Especially that.
Our conversation was as random as our meeting and just as sarcastic at times. It was a very discombobulated conversation. Being half Swedish and half black, I was surprised he was only 5”9 and said as much. So how did a guy who should have been 6” plus end up being 5”9? He launched into another story.
When he was younger, the doctor had said he would probably grow to be at least six feet tall. Growing up he had played many sports, soccer being his favorite. It also meant he had started weight lifting rather young. This in turn stunted his growth, leaving him at 5”9.
Somewhere along the course of that story, I had started snuggling into his shoulder. In my defense, it was a little chilly outside, as chilly as it gets at 4 or 5 a.m. in May. Of course, he noticed and being him, commented on that in the midst of our conversation.
“Look at you trying to leech the warmth out of me!”
I made a mock cry of protest. Before I could start arguing, he went back inside, got his sweater (or maybe it was a jacket) and threw it over me. Quite the gentleman, a rough version but a gentleman nevertheless.
We sat there talking for what seemed like forever. We saw the sunrise together and even had a little argument about what constitutes as sunrise. I said it was the moment you saw the sun. He argued it was the minute the darkness lifted. We kept at it for a good ten minutes. The entire time I could not stop smiling. We talked through the night and into the morning. Around 7 a.m. his friends came outside, asking us if we wanted to go get some food. I had to leave in another hour. Checkout time from the dorm was 8:30 a.m. so I asked Andre to drop me back.
As he dropped me off in front of my building, I turned and gave him a big hug. I couldn’t help but think, it was a hug I didn’t want to leave. I went back to my room, took a nap, woke up a hour later to pack, and left. That was the end of my freshman year and it was a pretty great ending to a pretty amazing year.
We met, we talked, and it was epic. The sun rose and reality set in. I left for home and he left for Europe. We went our separate ways. But that was never the end of our story.
Reality, it seems, is still the here and now.
Quote of the Day
I still have four unfinished stories on the back burner. Now, I have an addition to the four. I think I'll finish the new addition before I go back to working on the others. In the meantime, here's a short compilation of some of the funnier compliments/comments/conversations I've gotten over the years. Some of these are taken out of context.
"You do have some straight shoulders. You would have been a good Egyptian slave with those shoulders."
When I told my parents to get a dog after we leave, mom said, "Why would i do that? I already have three at home."
Once while discussing the prospect of setting up a friend with a certain girl . . .
Friend: "Tell her a fair, tall doctor who once dated a princess is interested in her."
While at a friend's house . . .
Friend's Mom: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: No . . .
Friend's Mom: What's wrong with the two of you?
"Do I know you cause I'm sure if we met I would have remembered you."
This being a relative I added on facebook (one I hadn't seen in years) who probably was hoping I was a potential prospect.
On a random note, does anyone else think it's quite painful to read AIM/FB messages/FB chat conversation from when you were younger? Maybe it's me but I wince every time I read a bad spelling or naive/laughable ideas from my younger self.
Some compliments I've gotten from different guys, made weird/funny by the fact that it was a man saying those things. The out of context rule applies here as well.
"I like how you do your eyeliner."
"You [your hips] were made to deliver babies."
"You would make adorable babies. You'll have a charming family someday."
"Does she fear God?"
"If you had a kid with a white guy, that baby would probably look like Tiger Wood." There really is no appropriate response for that.
"Let's see some more pics of women."
"I like your earrings. You always have such nice earrings."
"I like the emo hair to the side look."
"You would make an amazing matriarch. You would make beautiful babies."
Regarding the last one, never discuss kids with a woman who clearly has no intention of having one any time soon. Second, who uses the word matriarch???
Friday, November 30, 2012
A tribute to my parents' marriage
I hope that I’m not jinxing anything by writing this, but I couldn’t wait all the way til December to write this. This is my tribute to my parents’ marriage, which turns yet another year older on December 21st. I am currently in the midst of planning a surprise wedding anniversary party for them the day after. Due to a short catastrophic crisis, they found out that my brothers and I are planning something. Before that they were completely in the dark. I just hope they don’t realize the scale of what we’re planning.
Ten years ago if you had told me that one day I would be hoping for a marriage, a relationship as solid and good as theirs, I would tell you that you were batshit crazy. Yes, that is exactly what I would have told you. But there’s something about growing up, having relationships of your own, and learning to understand your parents not as your parents but as people that makes you realize that a great marriage isn’t fireworks and epic storylines. Rather, it lies in the small things.
The way his arm cradles her shoulder and the way she fits perfectly into his hold, the comfortable silences where they just sit together doing nothing, her absurd humor that no one else gets but him, they way they always come to each other’s defense when one of us starts criticizing. How he would always kiss her before going off to work in the evenings, they way they poke fun at each other, their fierce love for the three lives they brought into this world, and the commitment and love that brought them through more than two decades of a marriage. (they haven’t quite hit the thirty year mark yet).
These are the things you only realize when you’re older, the insight and clarity that comes with age. Or, while you’re sitting there writing an anniversary speech for a public speaking class in college. I guess in my case, it’s a little bit of both.
My parents were not a love marriage in the traditional sense; it was arranged and thank God for that! My brothers and I wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for that. Two completely opposite people would never have gotten together, if it weren’t for fate.
If this was high school, she’d be the head cheerleader: funny, cute, beautiful, the perfect social butterfly. He on the other hand would be the complete wallflower: quiet, completely random at times, actually the exact opposite of her really. They say marriages are made in heaven and I’ve spent my entire life watching their marriage to know there must be some truth to it.
When my dad had his stroke, she spent a year not sleeping right. Every time he skipped a breathe, she woke up and wouldn’t sleep again until he was breathing became normal again. As for him, he wouldn’t even know what clothes to wear in the morning if it isn’t for her. If he has any sense of color coordination, it’s all thanks to her. He’s her rock when anything goes wrong, especially with us three, their troublesome kids.
Together they make the perfect person. Every day I see them together and I know they were meant for one another. I see the love in her eyes in the things that she does for him. Although, he’s not always good at showing it, his love is ever present in the little things he does for her.
“The development of a really good marriage is not a natural process. It is an achievement.”
Ten years ago if you had told me that one day I would be hoping for a marriage, a relationship as solid and good as theirs, I would tell you that you were batshit crazy. Yes, that is exactly what I would have told you. But there’s something about growing up, having relationships of your own, and learning to understand your parents not as your parents but as people that makes you realize that a great marriage isn’t fireworks and epic storylines. Rather, it lies in the small things.
The way his arm cradles her shoulder and the way she fits perfectly into his hold, the comfortable silences where they just sit together doing nothing, her absurd humor that no one else gets but him, they way they always come to each other’s defense when one of us starts criticizing. How he would always kiss her before going off to work in the evenings, they way they poke fun at each other, their fierce love for the three lives they brought into this world, and the commitment and love that brought them through more than two decades of a marriage. (they haven’t quite hit the thirty year mark yet).
These are the things you only realize when you’re older, the insight and clarity that comes with age. Or, while you’re sitting there writing an anniversary speech for a public speaking class in college. I guess in my case, it’s a little bit of both.
My parents were not a love marriage in the traditional sense; it was arranged and thank God for that! My brothers and I wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for that. Two completely opposite people would never have gotten together, if it weren’t for fate.
If this was high school, she’d be the head cheerleader: funny, cute, beautiful, the perfect social butterfly. He on the other hand would be the complete wallflower: quiet, completely random at times, actually the exact opposite of her really. They say marriages are made in heaven and I’ve spent my entire life watching their marriage to know there must be some truth to it.
When my dad had his stroke, she spent a year not sleeping right. Every time he skipped a breathe, she woke up and wouldn’t sleep again until he was breathing became normal again. As for him, he wouldn’t even know what clothes to wear in the morning if it isn’t for her. If he has any sense of color coordination, it’s all thanks to her. He’s her rock when anything goes wrong, especially with us three, their troublesome kids.
Together they make the perfect person. Every day I see them together and I know they were meant for one another. I see the love in her eyes in the things that she does for him. Although, he’s not always good at showing it, his love is ever present in the little things he does for her.
“The development of a really good marriage is not a natural process. It is an achievement.”
Life and Its Friends
I read somewhere once that you should never forget the things or the people that made you smile, just learn from the tears that followed. Sometimes, I'm not a 100% sure I've learned my lesson as well as I should have, but hey, it's a learning process. What I do know is that I try to remember the good memories. It is always easier to remember the bad. I'm not sure why that is, but I guess it's our mistakes that end up haunting us through the rest of our lives.
This blog is also a way for me to remember the times and the people that made me smile, laugh, and take a chance on life. It's always a pretty amazing thing when two absolute strangers become the best of friends. It's also equally sad when they fade out of each other's lives and go back to being strangers. Every story I write makes me think about those people and just how much they've impacted my life, transforming my life. A part of me will always wonder if I impacted you the way your life as you have mine.
Without these people, I would not be the person I am today. So this is my tribute to those who made my life the crazy, half-hazard, wonderful thing that it has been, even if they may not still be in it. Thanks
This blog is also a way for me to remember the times and the people that made me smile, laugh, and take a chance on life. It's always a pretty amazing thing when two absolute strangers become the best of friends. It's also equally sad when they fade out of each other's lives and go back to being strangers. Every story I write makes me think about those people and just how much they've impacted my life, transforming my life. A part of me will always wonder if I impacted you the way your life as you have mine.
Without these people, I would not be the person I am today. So this is my tribute to those who made my life the crazy, half-hazard, wonderful thing that it has been, even if they may not still be in it. Thanks
Monday, November 12, 2012
Something Borrowed
I ran across this on facebook and thought it was pretty amazing. There are lessons in there that we could all use as a reminder. If not anything else, it's a pretty thorough prayer.
Forgive those who have misled you
May you cherish those who tell you the truth about yourself
May you never know the lonely bed of wasted time
May your personality never attempt suicide by lowering its standards
May you never succumb to the death wish of vapid companionship
May you find your future self in every lover
May you always remain ready to leave
May your improvement and self-mastery come before all else
May you never obligate yourself to another’s validation
May you never worship your partner, may your love and your religion never betray each other,
may you take pride in your company,
may you remain willing to put your pride aside for your company,
may your connections be a result of your pre-existing fulfillment and not a source,
may your company and solitude enrich each other,
may each lover introduce you to new methods of creation,
may you recognize when you are being groomed for abuse,
may you remember to provide everything you seek,
may you never be seduced by politicians who seek your validation before considering your emotional welfare, may you never breach respectful distances before allowing another to make an informed decision, may your experiences improve your language and vice versa
may you never take it personally when another person’s requirements do not involve you,
may you never apologize for your distances,
may you seek gratification in the rarity of a person and not in the title they assign us,
may you transcend the need for reciprocity,
may you forge invincibility by effectively communicating your pain,
may you nurture yourself through nurturing others who know what they have when they have you, may you commit yourself to the magic of union by granting your lover’s wishes,
may you remain free from shame by embracing the truth in all experiences,
may your freedom set your lovers free,
may your love for each person make them special and unique,
may your lovers never retrospectively resemble each other in their patterns of disappointment,
may you submit yourself to the paradoxical spontaneity of contradictory feelings,
may you find liberation in complete submission,
may you always choose wisely and find a teacher and friend in every lover,
may you never overdraft your emotional account to fall for poetic advertisements for ego-stroking,
may you go all out for the sake of romance and let the chip fall where they may,
may you never expire for unrequited love,
may nothing ever be too good to be true,
may your truth be best possible thing, may you never compromise your vulnerabilities to protect another’s guilt,
may you never insult your own intelligence with meaningless and convenient sex,
may you embrace your urges as a divine jolt of the senses,
may you never be demonized for your arousal,
may you never apply masks lest you attract more masks,
may your connections be evidence of your revolutionary drive for self-autonomy,
may your heart be the compass, may you find comfort and thrill in both home and vacation,
May you never know a place where love is not, may you never know a place where love is not, may you never know a place where love is not . . .
Discovered on http://brownitapplebum.com/
Sorry for the tardiness . . .
For those who actually took the time to read my stories, thank you. And for those who are waiting for new stuff, sorry for being M.I.A. School, sleep, study, traveling, planning, and dating have kept me busy. But . . . I do have four (incomplete) stories sitting on my desktop currently.
I write because each and every story has made me the person I am today. I write because through writing I realize the simple truths gained from each experience. I'm just an ordinary girl who likes to write, not some deep philosopher or literary expert. There's no profound wisdom to them, just the many (mis)adventures of a normal (whatever that means) girl/woman. I write my stories the way I would tell them.
For those who know me, I bet you read these stories with my voice narrating them. Tell me I'm wrong.
I write because each and every story has made me the person I am today. I write because through writing I realize the simple truths gained from each experience. I'm just an ordinary girl who likes to write, not some deep philosopher or literary expert. There's no profound wisdom to them, just the many (mis)adventures of a normal (whatever that means) girl/woman. I write my stories the way I would tell them.
For those who know me, I bet you read these stories with my voice narrating them. Tell me I'm wrong.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Quote of the Day
My dad is a pretty great guy. He's a jack of all trades. He's our plumber, electrician, tailor, mechanic, but most importantly, a great dad. He also has a tendency towards the random. I blame it on Discover Channel and Animal Planet.
One day he and I are sitting in the waiting room at the optometrist’s when all of a sudden he says, “Do you know where Komodo dragons live?”
I reply, “Some island in the Pacific?”
He then proceeds to talk about Komodo dragons for the next twenty minutes. That is my dad for you.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Miracle on I-75
“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
― Albert Einstein
I graduated from undergrad on a Saturday. By 4pm the next day, I was all packed up and ready to go. I had packed my fridge, microwave, all my clothes, and whatever else I had in my room into my car and started the drive. As luck would have it, it was raining hard. As I got onto the interstate, I noticed a long line of cars. An accident, I thought. The roads narrowed down to two lanes and the rain fell harder. It got to the point that the car in front of me was spraying me with water. As I was passing over a bridge, ten exits away from school, my car hydroplaned.
I lost control. The car swerved to the right and hit the guardrail. The chances of my car flipping over the bridge were probable. I also knew that if it were to go over the bridge, I would not survive. All I could think was, please don’t go over the bridge, please don’t go over. Luckily, that did not happen. My car somehow swerved back to the left, flipped over twice, and landed upside down with its wheels in the air. Throughout the whole experience, I had this strangely strong assurance of my survival: He won’t let me die. Needless to say, I was in shock, still trying to process what had happened. Breathe, I kept telling myself. Two of the side windows were blown out. The windshield was cracked and broken. My neck was killing me. I did not notice my arm at the time. As soon as I was sure the car had stopped moving, I unbuckled my seatbelt and started to crawl out the window.
As I crawled out the window, I stopped and looked down, finally noticing the pain in my arm. My arm was covered in blood, my blood. On the gravel besides the car was a mixture of blood and water, as if a painter had used a brush to slash over the gravel. I started crying then, while in my head I thought, why am I crying? Then: Crap! There goes my shirt. This was one of my good shirts!
By this point, people had gotten out of their cars and come over to help. They tried to tell me not to move, but any person in their right mind would want to get out of the wreck. So instead of sitting still, I crawled the rest of the way out of the car. When I got out, I was shoeless, phoneless, and without my wallet. It was all in that car, along with the rest of my life. I was visibly shaking, arm covered in blood. As I turned around and looked at the wreck that once was my car, I thought and I kid you not, Dad’s going to kill me. Then: I should have listened to my parents and left yesterday. And finally: I hope my laptop is ok. I guess you learn your main priorities when something like that happens.
Someone stopped and called 911. Another person ran back to their car and grabbed a towel. I cleaned off the blood and let them wrap it around the wounds. I did not want to look too closely. Finally, when I was sure I could speak without faltering, I asked, “Is there any blood coming from my neck?” The pain in my neck was terrible. I was worried that something had pierced one of the main arteries located on that side. One of the men who had stopped told me, “No, it just looks like a really bad seatbelt burn.” I could not have been happier, hearing those words. Another good Samaritan came over and said, “The paramedics are on their way. Is there anyone you need to call?”
“Yes, actually I do. My mom but my phone is still in the car. It must have slipped out in the crash,” I replied. He handed me his phone and I called my mom. She was at work when I called her.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mom. I got into a car crash. I’m ok though but the car is wrecked. Can you call dad and tell him? My phone is still in the car and I’m calling on someone else’s phone.”
For a minute there I actually thought she was mad, until I realized I must have caught her in the middle of work. She took it a lot better than I thought she would. Then again, when you’re a nurse, not too many things faze you. I got off the phone and stood there, trying not to cry again. Needless to say, it was a fail. I stood there in silence with tears streaming down my face, still shaking. When the cops and the firemen arrived on the scene, I finally had the tears under control. I told the cop the story. The very first thing he said was, “You are VERY lucky to be alive and walk away with just those cuts.”
“I just graduated yesterday. Some graduation present, huh?”
In the face of disaster/bad news/epic bad luck, my sense of humor tends to pop up. They all smiled a little at that. Since my license was still in the car, I had to list out all the necessary information. When they got to my age (at the time I was 21 still), they asked, “Wait, you graduated college at 21?”
“Yes . . .” I was a bit confused. I guess graduating college at 21 is not normal in the south.
Conversation calmed me down; joking around stopped me from crying or thinking about what had happened. As we were waiting for the paramedics, I noticed that one of the firemen sitting next to me on the guardrail was really cute. As soon as I had that thought, I mentally slapped myself. Of course, I would notice something like that in the middle of all this. Honestly though, any thought was better than thinking about the crash.
When the paramedics arrived, they went through all the basic stuff before having me walk to the ambulance. Inside they strapped me down to the board just to be on the safe side. Better safe than sorry. I made small talk with the paramedics, while we waited for them to get my wallet and phone from the car. Apparently, I was their third crash of the day.
“Don’t worry, on days like this the number of crashes gets worse. So you graduated yesterday?”
“Yup, some graduation present right?”
“So wait, you graduated at 21. How’s that possible?”
“My birthday is in August?”
“Congrats either way. So what exactly happened?”
As I told them about the crash, they looked shocked. One of them asked, “So what model was your car? I can’t tell from the damage.”
“A Toyota Yaris.”“Jeez! No wonder the cop said you were lucky to be alive. You had stuff in there?”
“My whole life actually. I was driving back home with all my stuff.”
“Those things turn into projectiles in a car crash. You’re lucky that you’re not paralyzed right now. When we got the call, we were expecting more than one car crash.”
“What do you mean?”
“You must have been far away enough that the cars behind you had time to put on the breaks. Otherwise, you might not be talking right now.”
I knew I was lucky when my car didn’t flip over the bridge, but now I had two more reasons to say, “I’m lucky to be alive.” Probability had been against me and yet, I was ok for the most part. The phrase, “Walked away without a scratch” came into mind, because that was more or less what happened to me. There is a name for all this. Some people call it highly improbably events. I call them miracles.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Quote of the Day
So my mom is a simple Indian mother who happens to be a RN.
One day as I was watching TV, she comes in and asks, "What is Real Housewives?"
I ask, "Which one? Atl, New Jersey, etc . . ."
"Oh, I don't know. I saw it on TV one day. Is it real?"
"You mean, do people really live like that? Yeah."
"So it's real? Wow . . ."
One day as I was watching TV, she comes in and asks, "What is Real Housewives?"
I ask, "Which one? Atl, New Jersey, etc . . ."
"Oh, I don't know. I saw it on TV one day. Is it real?"
"You mean, do people really live like that? Yeah."
"So it's real? Wow . . ."
She was sincerely amazed by that idea that people throw money around like that.
The Original Law Student continued . . .
As we were standing there talking, many things were going on. While he and I talked, one of his friends went to the men's bathroom. Upon opening the door, he saw a group of drunk girls standing around there. Of course, he told them to get out. Unfortunately, one of those girls went to her equally drunk boyfriend, saying that this guy had been yelling at her. The drunk boyfriend then started harassing my guy's friend.
White Shirt Red Tie and I were oblivious, until his friends told us to go outside. Things had escalated to the point that the bartender had told them to leave before a fight occurred. We were walking towards the parking lot, when the drunk boyfriend followed us out and started talking trash. My memory is a little fuzzy after this, but I think the drunk boyfriend exchanged blows with some of the guys or something like that. Somehow or another my guy ended up getting the drunk boyfriend in a chokehold. Guess the kickboxing does come in handy. When the cops arrived, he and his friends tried explaining the situation: "We're just a bunch of law students who want to get home. We don't want any trouble." The bar owner, also friends with them, also collaborated on their story with the cops. J, one of the law students, got her car and drove over to pick us up. Since the seats were filled, White Shirt Red Tie and I had to get in the trunk. He turned to me and said, "This normally does not happen."
"If figured as much. Don't worry about it."
It was cute that he was trying to apologize for something that was not his fault to begin with. Sometimes, it's the little things that charm you and keep with you, long after the story has ended. After she dropped us off to his car, he drove me home, apologizing on the way back. The next morning I woke up just in time to give him a wake up call.
"Hey . . . I figured I'd give you a wake up call, since you ended up staying up past your bedtime."
"Thank you. You didn't have to."
"It's the least I could do."
I forgot how that conversation ended; luckily it was short.
Later that week, a picture of the two of us popped up on my facebook from the night out. I really did not want to show my friends his picture. He looked terrible in pictures and I'm not talking about looks. Not only did he look a lot older standing next to me, he looked like a complete douchebag. Since I had already told them about him, it was only fair I showed them what he looked like. All their initial responses were, "He looks like a player."
Fast forward a few days, a picture of the two of us showed up on facebook. This guy looks terrible in pictures as opposed to in person. Not only did he look a lot older standing next to me, he also looked like a complete douchebag, which was why i was reluctant to show my friends his picture. I had told the entire crazy story and they all wanted a look at him. Things may have turned out differently, if I had not shown them the picture but who knows? Everyone's initial comment was, "He looks like a player."
Later on that week or was it two weeks later? I went out on a Wednesday nigh with friends. That night was also an interesting story but another time. My friends' comments were still in my head when the following occurred. After going out, I came home and called him. Yes, I was slightly inebriated.
"Hello?"
"Are you a player?"
“Ok . . . well if I were a player, why would I be spending Wednesday night studying in the library?”
Let's just say that the conversation died down a bit after that. I felt incredibly stupid the next morning, though I did realize that his argument had nothing to do with being a player. That Saturday we had the annual intercollegiate Indian dance competition at my college. Afterwards, there usually is an after-party at one of the nearby clubs downtown. Coincidentally, it was at DI that year.
I had called him the day before telling him about it. After the performances I went back to my dorm to get ready for the night. I ended up wearing the blue dress that I first saw him in. Since we are more or less in a collegetown in the south, everything closes at 2am, but that night the party went on until 4am. I went downtown with two friends. When we got there, it was less crowded than i expected. After jumping around a bit, I went down and sat near a friend in the VIP area. Apparently, as long as you were female you could get in for free. The friend, A, also seemed a bit bored. Can't blame her though. The music was not exactly the best for dancing. Then two girls started making out in front of us. I kid you not. AWKWARD. I got up and left.
I went out through one of the side doors, down a ramp, and found myself in the outdoor part of the club. They normally never open that part, so it was a first being there. Light were strung up. Couches/bed looking things were lined up along the sides. The shrubs/long skinny trees/whatever you call them were decorated in lights. There was another bar out there too. The music there was better too. It was really nice, perfect for an outdoor party. Too bad it was nearly empty.
Another friend of mine, P, was standing outside definitely drunk. She introduced me to her brother, a DJ, and her cousins/friends. One of her cousins and I kind of hit it off. He was also dead drunk. We talked for a bit before I asked him to dance. "Don't be trying to wear me out. I'm a little out of it right now. Actually, you might not want to talk to me at all right now," he replied. It was more or less the two of us dancing on the outdoor dance floor. Then, I went back inside and went back to the VIP area, where A told me a guy had come looking for me. I had just asked her what he looked like, when she said, "Oh, there he is over there." She pointed down and I saw my guy walking by. I called down to him and he came over. He gave me his Miami greeting and said, "Hey! You're wearing the blue dress." For those of you who were left wondering, my friend from Miami had confirmed the kiss on a cheek to be a Miami cultural thing.
We stood there talking on the stairs, until the bouncer kicked him out. Of course, I followed him. His friends were over by one of the sidebars. It was a different group of friends this time but I did recognize J from last time. We took shots and did hookah. He's a big fan of it. We also took a ton of pictures that night, including some of us together. Part of me was waiting for him to ask me to dance, but another friend of his beat him to it. Naturally, I said yes. If you haven't figured it out yet, back then I almost never said no to a dance. I went to clubs just so I COULD dance. Blame it on the Indian dance lessons. Any way, later that night I found the courage to go and ask White Shirt Red Tie to dance. I lead him out onto the dance floor. You know that stereotype about Latin people being great dancers? Completely true in his case. We went back to his friends, when I suggested we go outside.
Remember how the outdoor part of the club was nearly empty when I had been there? As we walked through the side door, I saw a sea of brown people on the floor. There may have been a few non-Indians here and there but brown was the major color. As we went down the ramp, he said dryly, "We are not going to stick out at all. I think we're actually the only white people here." I laughed and tried to tell him it was ok.
I dragged him onto the dance floor the first chance I got and we danced the night away. NO matter how hot you got from dancing, the night air cooled you down. At one point, he started whispering Spanish into my ear. What girl doesn't love the idea of a beautiful foreign language being whispered into her ear? To this day, I wish I had known what he had said.
The night was beautiful. I was dancing under the stars in the arms of a man who was interested in me. The pretty Spanish helped too. While we were dancing with my back to him, an Indian guy came up, doing bhangra(Yeah! Woohoo!). I did a little bhangra back. It was harmless fun and I knew the Indian guy meant nothing by it. It seemed that it drew a possessive streak out of my guy, because the next thing I know, I’m facing him again. I laughed it off. I could see where he was coming from. A few hours later (maybe?), he dragged me off the dance floor, while I gave him a hard time.
“I can’t believe you’re already worn out!”
“Hey! I went to the gym today. My legs are killing me.”
“I went to the gym too, but you don’t see me complaining.”
It went on like that for a little bit, while we were sitting on one of those lounge couch/bed things. I went back to the dance floor and joined in with a group of Indian girls. We created the Indian circle. Everyone was incredibly nice, and the crowd was friendly in general. No Rangoli has since compared to that one, and no Rangoli after-party crowd has ever been as great, but then again, maybe it was just that night. Eventually around 4am the club started closing down and people began to leave. I went back to him and his friends.
“Hey, I’m going to go check up on a friend of mine.”
“Sure.”
I went over to P and she was crying.
“What’s wrong?”
She missed her ex.
“Are you ok?”
“No, I’m fine. I promise.”
Luckily, her brother and her cousin were both there. I did not need to tell them to get her home safe. I did take a picture with her brother and her. It was not until the next day that I realized I had taken the picture with her brother thinking it was the cousin. Guess I had been a little more intoxicated than I had realized.
I went back to my guy, who asked, “Is your friend ok?
“Yeah, she’s fine. She just misses her ex. Her brother’s going to take her home. Hey, do you mind dropping me off home tonight? I can’t seem to find the friends I came here with.”
“Yeah, no problem. Do you mind if we go to Waffle House first? They want to get some food.”
“Sure.”
He and another friend were DD that night. Another one of his friends and I got into his car. When we reached WaHo, we split into two groups, since one table wouldn’t have been big enough for all of us. Our table consisted of me on one side facing him and his friend. He said, “You should get something to eat.”
“I’m fine! I’m not at all hungry.”
When the waitress came, he ordered any way.
“I’m not going to eat it. I’m not hungry at all. Promise!”
We kept arguing like that. It never occurred to me at the time that the food was meant to absorb the alcohol in my system. Then, I said, “I can’t believe I wore you out in two hours. You’re such an old man!”
A strange look crossed his face. “What?” I asked.
“You might want to tone your voice down.”
“Why?” I asked confused.
“The guy over there by the counter turned and looked at you, when you said that.”
My obliviousness left me unaware of how many ways my earlier statement could have been interpreted. Still confused, I shrugged my shoulders. I excused myself and went to the bathroom. While looking in the mirror, I realized my dress had gone dangerously low. The halter tie had probably loosened over the course of the night. Luckily, I had on a jacket. I redid the knot, pulling my neckline higher. When I came back, there was a chocolate cake waiting for me. I pushed it away and said, “I’m really not hungry.”
While we kept arguing, he cut a piece and basically fed me a few bites. Yes, he actually force fed me chocolate cake. Any other girl probably would have been thrilled. We finished our food and left Waho, he turned to me and asked, “I need to drop my friend off first. Is that ok with you?”
I nodded. I certainly was not ready to leave his company. After we dropped off his friend, we headed back to my place to drop me off. On the ride back, he said with a cocky undertone, “You might want to be careful. Girls tend to fall for me.”
I laughed and said, “Well, I should say the same to you. Plus, I’m not most girls.”
I laughed and said, “Well, I should say the same to you. Plus, I’m not most girls.”
Finally, we arrived in front of my dorm. I looked at the building looming before me with trepidation. I did not want to go inside. I knew what would be waiting for me: the sight of my roommate with boyfriend in her bed. I had been sexiled from my room for most of that semester. To prolong that moment, I turned to him and said, “I’m really not that tired. Do you want to hang out somewhere?”
“Sure. We can always go back to my place and watch a movie.”
“Sure. Let me go pick up some clothes to change back into.” Anything was better than staying in my room. I went inside and quickly got my Punjabi pants and a tee shirt. As I expected, my roommate was in there with her guy. I hurried out of there and back to the car, where he was waiting for me. As we were driving, he kept glancing at me. Finally, I asked, “What? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“If I keep staring at you long enough, your face starts to look fourteen.”
“And you sound like a pedophile right now.”
We both laughed.
When we got to his place, he gave a little tour of the place and we settled in on his couch. We ended up watching 21. Well, he watched it, while I fell asleep with my head resting against his shoulder half way through the movie. In my defense, it was a comfy couch and snuggled up against him, who wouldn’t have fallen asleep? When you’re a girl who’s 5ft. 7, there’s not too many guys who’re the perfect height. At around six in the morning, he woke me up and asked, “Do you want me to drop you off home?”
“It’s 6 a.m. I feel bad for making you drive me home now.”
“It’s no trouble really. It’s your choice.”
“How about I spend the night here and you can drop me off, whenever you wake up? I’ll take the couch.”
“You’re not sleeping on my couch. You take the bed and I’ll take the couch.”
I felt worse than I already did for inconveniencing him so. He walked me to his room where I fell asleep on his incredibly comfy, awesomely big bed. When he came to check up on me, he laugh, “You’re sleeping the wrong way.” In my defense, it was dark and it all looked the same. Feeling bad, I said, “Why don’t you sleep here instead of the couch? You can sleep on that side and I’ll sleep on this side. The bed’s big enough for the both of us.”
So he crawled into bed. The sleeping on separate sides only lasted for a little bit. Before long, we were sleeping right next to each other and cuddling. It was the perfect end to a perfect night. And no, he did not try anything.
The next morning we woke up around the same time. I groaned. Face palm moment.
“Just so you know this is not happening again.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t sleep in another person’s bed, especially not with a guy. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“I figured as much.”
“So when you were speaking Spanish last night, what were you saying?”
“It’s better that you don’t know. I would have made you blush.”
That was when I accidentally let it slip that I had never kissed a guy. He did not believe me at first. He kept repeating, “Wow” over a few times. Then it was twenty questions:
“Why not?”
“Never met anyone that I cared about.”
“So you’ve never wanted to kiss a guy?”
“Sometimes I wish just get it over with . . .”
That was when he mentioned, “Remember when you were dancing facing me and I turned you back around?”
“What about it?”
“I turned you around so I wouldn’t kiss you. All I wanted to do was kiss you last night. If I hadn’t turned you around, I probably would have.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t, because I probably would have slapped you.”
After more cuddling and talking, I finally got up and got ready. As I was putting my contacts on, he came up behind me, hugged me, and kissed my neck. It really was the perfect end to a perfect weekend.
I'm not going to tell you how the story ended. I'd rather let you imagine the end. It is called a reverse Cinderella story for a reason. Even if it didn't work out, it makes for one hell of a true story.
Side note: Remember the motherly friend that I checked in with before I went on the date? She and I became really good friends. The irony, however, is the fact that she ended up working at the Japanese place that he took me to on our first date. Some would call it fate. I call it my life.
White Shirt Red Tie and I were oblivious, until his friends told us to go outside. Things had escalated to the point that the bartender had told them to leave before a fight occurred. We were walking towards the parking lot, when the drunk boyfriend followed us out and started talking trash. My memory is a little fuzzy after this, but I think the drunk boyfriend exchanged blows with some of the guys or something like that. Somehow or another my guy ended up getting the drunk boyfriend in a chokehold. Guess the kickboxing does come in handy. When the cops arrived, he and his friends tried explaining the situation: "We're just a bunch of law students who want to get home. We don't want any trouble." The bar owner, also friends with them, also collaborated on their story with the cops. J, one of the law students, got her car and drove over to pick us up. Since the seats were filled, White Shirt Red Tie and I had to get in the trunk. He turned to me and said, "This normally does not happen."
"If figured as much. Don't worry about it."
It was cute that he was trying to apologize for something that was not his fault to begin with. Sometimes, it's the little things that charm you and keep with you, long after the story has ended. After she dropped us off to his car, he drove me home, apologizing on the way back. The next morning I woke up just in time to give him a wake up call.
"Hey . . . I figured I'd give you a wake up call, since you ended up staying up past your bedtime."
"Thank you. You didn't have to."
"It's the least I could do."
I forgot how that conversation ended; luckily it was short.
Later that week, a picture of the two of us popped up on my facebook from the night out. I really did not want to show my friends his picture. He looked terrible in pictures and I'm not talking about looks. Not only did he look a lot older standing next to me, he looked like a complete douchebag. Since I had already told them about him, it was only fair I showed them what he looked like. All their initial responses were, "He looks like a player."
Fast forward a few days, a picture of the two of us showed up on facebook. This guy looks terrible in pictures as opposed to in person. Not only did he look a lot older standing next to me, he also looked like a complete douchebag, which was why i was reluctant to show my friends his picture. I had told the entire crazy story and they all wanted a look at him. Things may have turned out differently, if I had not shown them the picture but who knows? Everyone's initial comment was, "He looks like a player."
Later on that week or was it two weeks later? I went out on a Wednesday nigh with friends. That night was also an interesting story but another time. My friends' comments were still in my head when the following occurred. After going out, I came home and called him. Yes, I was slightly inebriated.
"Hello?"
"Are you a player?"
“Ok . . . well if I were a player, why would I be spending Wednesday night studying in the library?”
Let's just say that the conversation died down a bit after that. I felt incredibly stupid the next morning, though I did realize that his argument had nothing to do with being a player. That Saturday we had the annual intercollegiate Indian dance competition at my college. Afterwards, there usually is an after-party at one of the nearby clubs downtown. Coincidentally, it was at DI that year.
I had called him the day before telling him about it. After the performances I went back to my dorm to get ready for the night. I ended up wearing the blue dress that I first saw him in. Since we are more or less in a collegetown in the south, everything closes at 2am, but that night the party went on until 4am. I went downtown with two friends. When we got there, it was less crowded than i expected. After jumping around a bit, I went down and sat near a friend in the VIP area. Apparently, as long as you were female you could get in for free. The friend, A, also seemed a bit bored. Can't blame her though. The music was not exactly the best for dancing. Then two girls started making out in front of us. I kid you not. AWKWARD. I got up and left.
I went out through one of the side doors, down a ramp, and found myself in the outdoor part of the club. They normally never open that part, so it was a first being there. Light were strung up. Couches/bed looking things were lined up along the sides. The shrubs/long skinny trees/whatever you call them were decorated in lights. There was another bar out there too. The music there was better too. It was really nice, perfect for an outdoor party. Too bad it was nearly empty.
Another friend of mine, P, was standing outside definitely drunk. She introduced me to her brother, a DJ, and her cousins/friends. One of her cousins and I kind of hit it off. He was also dead drunk. We talked for a bit before I asked him to dance. "Don't be trying to wear me out. I'm a little out of it right now. Actually, you might not want to talk to me at all right now," he replied. It was more or less the two of us dancing on the outdoor dance floor. Then, I went back inside and went back to the VIP area, where A told me a guy had come looking for me. I had just asked her what he looked like, when she said, "Oh, there he is over there." She pointed down and I saw my guy walking by. I called down to him and he came over. He gave me his Miami greeting and said, "Hey! You're wearing the blue dress." For those of you who were left wondering, my friend from Miami had confirmed the kiss on a cheek to be a Miami cultural thing.
We stood there talking on the stairs, until the bouncer kicked him out. Of course, I followed him. His friends were over by one of the sidebars. It was a different group of friends this time but I did recognize J from last time. We took shots and did hookah. He's a big fan of it. We also took a ton of pictures that night, including some of us together. Part of me was waiting for him to ask me to dance, but another friend of his beat him to it. Naturally, I said yes. If you haven't figured it out yet, back then I almost never said no to a dance. I went to clubs just so I COULD dance. Blame it on the Indian dance lessons. Any way, later that night I found the courage to go and ask White Shirt Red Tie to dance. I lead him out onto the dance floor. You know that stereotype about Latin people being great dancers? Completely true in his case. We went back to his friends, when I suggested we go outside.
Remember how the outdoor part of the club was nearly empty when I had been there? As we walked through the side door, I saw a sea of brown people on the floor. There may have been a few non-Indians here and there but brown was the major color. As we went down the ramp, he said dryly, "We are not going to stick out at all. I think we're actually the only white people here." I laughed and tried to tell him it was ok.
I dragged him onto the dance floor the first chance I got and we danced the night away. NO matter how hot you got from dancing, the night air cooled you down. At one point, he started whispering Spanish into my ear. What girl doesn't love the idea of a beautiful foreign language being whispered into her ear? To this day, I wish I had known what he had said.
The night was beautiful. I was dancing under the stars in the arms of a man who was interested in me. The pretty Spanish helped too. While we were dancing with my back to him, an Indian guy came up, doing bhangra(Yeah! Woohoo!). I did a little bhangra back. It was harmless fun and I knew the Indian guy meant nothing by it. It seemed that it drew a possessive streak out of my guy, because the next thing I know, I’m facing him again. I laughed it off. I could see where he was coming from. A few hours later (maybe?), he dragged me off the dance floor, while I gave him a hard time.
“I can’t believe you’re already worn out!”
“Hey! I went to the gym today. My legs are killing me.”
“I went to the gym too, but you don’t see me complaining.”
It went on like that for a little bit, while we were sitting on one of those lounge couch/bed things. I went back to the dance floor and joined in with a group of Indian girls. We created the Indian circle. Everyone was incredibly nice, and the crowd was friendly in general. No Rangoli has since compared to that one, and no Rangoli after-party crowd has ever been as great, but then again, maybe it was just that night. Eventually around 4am the club started closing down and people began to leave. I went back to him and his friends.
“Hey, I’m going to go check up on a friend of mine.”
“Sure.”
I went over to P and she was crying.
“What’s wrong?”
She missed her ex.
“Are you ok?”
“No, I’m fine. I promise.”
Luckily, her brother and her cousin were both there. I did not need to tell them to get her home safe. I did take a picture with her brother and her. It was not until the next day that I realized I had taken the picture with her brother thinking it was the cousin. Guess I had been a little more intoxicated than I had realized.
I went back to my guy, who asked, “Is your friend ok?
“Yeah, she’s fine. She just misses her ex. Her brother’s going to take her home. Hey, do you mind dropping me off home tonight? I can’t seem to find the friends I came here with.”
“Yeah, no problem. Do you mind if we go to Waffle House first? They want to get some food.”
“Sure.”
He and another friend were DD that night. Another one of his friends and I got into his car. When we reached WaHo, we split into two groups, since one table wouldn’t have been big enough for all of us. Our table consisted of me on one side facing him and his friend. He said, “You should get something to eat.”
“I’m fine! I’m not at all hungry.”
When the waitress came, he ordered any way.
“I’m not going to eat it. I’m not hungry at all. Promise!”
We kept arguing like that. It never occurred to me at the time that the food was meant to absorb the alcohol in my system. Then, I said, “I can’t believe I wore you out in two hours. You’re such an old man!”
A strange look crossed his face. “What?” I asked.
“You might want to tone your voice down.”
“Why?” I asked confused.
“The guy over there by the counter turned and looked at you, when you said that.”
My obliviousness left me unaware of how many ways my earlier statement could have been interpreted. Still confused, I shrugged my shoulders. I excused myself and went to the bathroom. While looking in the mirror, I realized my dress had gone dangerously low. The halter tie had probably loosened over the course of the night. Luckily, I had on a jacket. I redid the knot, pulling my neckline higher. When I came back, there was a chocolate cake waiting for me. I pushed it away and said, “I’m really not hungry.”
While we kept arguing, he cut a piece and basically fed me a few bites. Yes, he actually force fed me chocolate cake. Any other girl probably would have been thrilled. We finished our food and left Waho, he turned to me and asked, “I need to drop my friend off first. Is that ok with you?”
I nodded. I certainly was not ready to leave his company. After we dropped off his friend, we headed back to my place to drop me off. On the ride back, he said with a cocky undertone, “You might want to be careful. Girls tend to fall for me.”
I laughed and said, “Well, I should say the same to you. Plus, I’m not most girls.”
I laughed and said, “Well, I should say the same to you. Plus, I’m not most girls.”
Finally, we arrived in front of my dorm. I looked at the building looming before me with trepidation. I did not want to go inside. I knew what would be waiting for me: the sight of my roommate with boyfriend in her bed. I had been sexiled from my room for most of that semester. To prolong that moment, I turned to him and said, “I’m really not that tired. Do you want to hang out somewhere?”
“Sure. We can always go back to my place and watch a movie.”
“Sure. Let me go pick up some clothes to change back into.” Anything was better than staying in my room. I went inside and quickly got my Punjabi pants and a tee shirt. As I expected, my roommate was in there with her guy. I hurried out of there and back to the car, where he was waiting for me. As we were driving, he kept glancing at me. Finally, I asked, “What? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“If I keep staring at you long enough, your face starts to look fourteen.”
“And you sound like a pedophile right now.”
We both laughed.
When we got to his place, he gave a little tour of the place and we settled in on his couch. We ended up watching 21. Well, he watched it, while I fell asleep with my head resting against his shoulder half way through the movie. In my defense, it was a comfy couch and snuggled up against him, who wouldn’t have fallen asleep? When you’re a girl who’s 5ft. 7, there’s not too many guys who’re the perfect height. At around six in the morning, he woke me up and asked, “Do you want me to drop you off home?”
“It’s 6 a.m. I feel bad for making you drive me home now.”
“It’s no trouble really. It’s your choice.”
“How about I spend the night here and you can drop me off, whenever you wake up? I’ll take the couch.”
“You’re not sleeping on my couch. You take the bed and I’ll take the couch.”
I felt worse than I already did for inconveniencing him so. He walked me to his room where I fell asleep on his incredibly comfy, awesomely big bed. When he came to check up on me, he laugh, “You’re sleeping the wrong way.” In my defense, it was dark and it all looked the same. Feeling bad, I said, “Why don’t you sleep here instead of the couch? You can sleep on that side and I’ll sleep on this side. The bed’s big enough for the both of us.”
So he crawled into bed. The sleeping on separate sides only lasted for a little bit. Before long, we were sleeping right next to each other and cuddling. It was the perfect end to a perfect night. And no, he did not try anything.
The next morning we woke up around the same time. I groaned. Face palm moment.
“Just so you know this is not happening again.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t sleep in another person’s bed, especially not with a guy. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“I figured as much.”
“So when you were speaking Spanish last night, what were you saying?”
“It’s better that you don’t know. I would have made you blush.”
That was when I accidentally let it slip that I had never kissed a guy. He did not believe me at first. He kept repeating, “Wow” over a few times. Then it was twenty questions:
“Why not?”
“Never met anyone that I cared about.”
“So you’ve never wanted to kiss a guy?”
“Sometimes I wish just get it over with . . .”
That was when he mentioned, “Remember when you were dancing facing me and I turned you back around?”
“What about it?”
“I turned you around so I wouldn’t kiss you. All I wanted to do was kiss you last night. If I hadn’t turned you around, I probably would have.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t, because I probably would have slapped you.”
After more cuddling and talking, I finally got up and got ready. As I was putting my contacts on, he came up behind me, hugged me, and kissed my neck. It really was the perfect end to a perfect weekend.
I'm not going to tell you how the story ended. I'd rather let you imagine the end. It is called a reverse Cinderella story for a reason. Even if it didn't work out, it makes for one hell of a true story.
Side note: Remember the motherly friend that I checked in with before I went on the date? She and I became really good friends. The irony, however, is the fact that she ended up working at the Japanese place that he took me to on our first date. Some would call it fate. I call it my life.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Quote of the Day
So my Dad comes home one day from his walk at 9pm.
Mom turns to me and says, ""Everyday he goes on his walk. Why couldn't he have just skipped one day? Just one day."
Dad: "Do you want me to die of a heart attack?"
Mom: "Well, if you die, then I can remarry."
Dad: "Then I'll just come back as a ghost and haunt you."
And then they both start laughing . . .
I guess this is what happens when you've been married 25 years.
Mom turns to me and says, ""Everyday he goes on his walk. Why couldn't he have just skipped one day? Just one day."
Dad: "Do you want me to die of a heart attack?"
Mom: "Well, if you die, then I can remarry."
Dad: "Then I'll just come back as a ghost and haunt you."
And then they both start laughing . . .
I guess this is what happens when you've been married 25 years.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Quote of the Day
One night my friend and I were on AIM back in the day and he compares clubbing to Lion King. I couldn't stop laughing, so I saved the conversation for a rainy day. Please don't take offense to the following material . . .
"I feel like going to the club is like the modern day version of courting your mate. You go on your first excursion and you get nothing! The lioness in fact bites you and you're wounded. You lick your wounds and then you go.
Lets prey on something slower: today's fat girl. This heals the wounds within. You practice with more fat girls. Then, black girls!
Then finally when you become a Journeyman, you hunt the rarest tiniest women of them all . . . THE ASIAN! Who finds your curry smell offensive, your skin too dark, your chest too harry, but you trick her with your mating calls and your mating dance. And then you earn the right of being a MASTER MARKSMAN! It's all in there . . . in the LION KING!"
"I feel like going to the club is like the modern day version of courting your mate. You go on your first excursion and you get nothing! The lioness in fact bites you and you're wounded. You lick your wounds and then you go.
Lets prey on something slower: today's fat girl. This heals the wounds within. You practice with more fat girls. Then, black girls!
Then finally when you become a Journeyman, you hunt the rarest tiniest women of them all . . . THE ASIAN! Who finds your curry smell offensive, your skin too dark, your chest too harry, but you trick her with your mating calls and your mating dance. And then you earn the right of being a MASTER MARKSMAN! It's all in there . . . in the LION KING!"
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Quote of the Day
My best friend has a truly unique outlook on life. He might not be the most book smart guy out there, but he's brutally honest and has a way of making you put things into perspective. His analogies and quotes always make my day.
"Yeaah . . . you look way way better in person, the difference between night and day. But that's a good thing man. A guy sees a picture of you and he's like, 'Dang! You don't look like your picture at all!! AND I LIKE IT!' "
"Dude! if you were a boy, I'd make you my groomsman! And you'd be in charge of the strippers!"
"Man, I wish you were a guy. Then all this would be kosher."
In reference to our friendship . . .
"Yeaah . . . you look way way better in person, the difference between night and day. But that's a good thing man. A guy sees a picture of you and he's like, 'Dang! You don't look like your picture at all!! AND I LIKE IT!' "
"Dude! if you were a boy, I'd make you my groomsman! And you'd be in charge of the strippers!"
"Man, I wish you were a guy. Then all this would be kosher."
In reference to our friendship . . .
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
The Original Law Student: Part I
If you're young at heart."
- Frank Sinatra, Young at Heart
One word of warning before I begin my story. I
will most undoubtedly frustrate you with my obliviousness, shock you with my
naivety, and make you smh. For better or for worse the following is a true
story.
At the undergrad I went to, there is a
University Center (UC) that holds a gym and a food court. It is more or less a
typical gym: one area with treadmills, ellipticals, etc; all the weight
machines on another; a track in the middle. There is also a bench where you can
leave your stuff. We are on the honor system. You never had to worry about your
stuff being stolen.
My first semester of college I would go to the gym almost every day. Let’s
just say the difference between me in the gym and me at a party is the
difference between night and day. At the gym, you have your regulars and your
sporadic exercisers. When you become a regular, you start to notice your fellow
regulars. There was one guy in particular that stood out. He had dark hair, olive colored skin, high
cheekbones, roughly six feet tall, well built, and rather intimidating looking.
My initial guess was Italian. He would always be in there whenever I came in
and there after I left.
On some night in September, my friends and I went out downtown to
a club. Let's call it club DI for the sake of anonymity. I wore a blue dress that night. It was Latin
Night, where they would play salsa/tango/latin music. My friends and I sat down
at a booth/couch thing. Across the room I saw a guy wearing a white shirt with
a red tie. His color combination caught my eye but what kept my attention was
his face. For some odd reason, he looked strikingly familiar. I asked my
friends if they had seen him at school before. They all said no and one friend
mentioned that he looked too old to be in undergrad. I let it go and did not
think twice about it.
Around the first week of October, I went to the gym one night. It
was raining outside so I borrowed my friend's umbrella. Like usual, I saw the
guy again but didn't think too much about it. I was running around the track,
while he was lifting weights. As I was nearing the curve (picture above), he came
near the bench, smiled at me, and did a "keep going" kind of gesture
with his hands. And just like that, he became approachable and no longer that
scary intimidating guy from before. After my run, I came over to the bench to
put my Ipod down. As it happened, he was there. I turned to him, and I kid you
not, and said, "Hi, my name's _____. So what makes you want to work out so
much.? I always see you in here."
He laughed and told me how he had once
been the chubby kid, which honestly if you saw this guy is kind of
unbelievable. At this, I told him I used to be one too but worse, I had had
glasses. He did not believe the chubby part the same way I did not believe
him. Any way as we were talking, he asked me a seemingly random question,
"Do you go out?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Do you ever go to DI?"
“Yes.” Thought: Where is he going with this?
"Have you ever gone on Latin Night?"
“Yes . . .”
That's when he exclaimed, "You're the
girl in the blue dress!"
Then it hit me. "You're the guy in
the white shirt, red tie!"
It never had occurred to me that the guy I
had seen almost every day that semester had been the white shirt red tie guy.
It was the difference between day and night. The same thought must have occurred
to him too, because he said, “I honestly didn't recognize you. You clean up
really well."
"I'd say the same about you too."
As it turned out, he was a law student.
Apparently, my school also had a law school a few miles down the road.
Everything finally made sense finally: why he had looked so familiar at the
club, yet too old to be an undergrad, why he always came to the gym . . .
Being the curious person that I am, it
became a game of twenty questions. He was not in fact Italian but half-Cuban
and half-Colombian. He was originally from Miami which explained the slight
accent. At the start of this story, he was 23, five years older than me. He
kick boxed.
We both went back to our respective workouts
and that night we walked out together. In the About Me section, it says that
I’m willfully ignorant/oblivious. You are about to see just how badly. Clue
number one: As we were walking, he asked, "So how old are you?"
"18"
"When did you turn 18?"
"In August"
"So this conversation would have been illegal two months
ago?"
I laughed at this point because I did not
know what to say and ignored the comment. I could not fathom the idea of an
older guy as charming as him hitting on me. We talked all the way to the exit
of the UC. Outside it was still raining hard. This is where the naivety
combines with the lack of social etiquette/lack of shyness to create the
following scenario.
I turned to him and said with blissful
ignorance, "Let me walk you to your car. I have an umbrella." He
refused a few times. At this I said, "Look, I don't really have anything
better to do tonight asides from studying, and I'm not really in a hurry to go
do that, so just let me walk you to your car." So that's exactly what we
did. He had parked his car in the lower level parking lot. To get there, one
had to walk down a long series of steps along the side of the UC. As the two of
us were walking down the stairs under my umbrella, I realized that we were both
getting wet still. Being the fact that we had just met, our bodies were at an
angle with one another and both of us were on the outer edges of my small borrowed
umbrella. So yet again, I did something that could have been misinterpreted, as
in me flirting with him.
"Hold this."
I gave him my Ipod, slipped my arm around
his waist, and said, "Put your arm around me. I don't see the point in both
of us getting wet." We continued walking down those stairs like that, when
he said, "So when my friends ask me what I did tonight, I can say, 'I got
walked to my car by a girl.'"I laughed. The two of us walked all the way
to his car together, when my sense of caution finally kicked in or as some of
my friends like to say, "Chose a moment that'd be too late in the real
world to show up.”
We get to his car, an old green Jaguar.
For any car fanatics reading this, I forgot the model. He turned to me and
said, "Thank for walking me to my car. The least I could do is drop you
home."
"Oh it's fine. I can just walk."
"It's raining pretty hard . . ."
"I do have an umbrella."
"Let me at drop you off. I promise I'm not a rapist."
Guys, if you're ever trying to drop a girl off home, NEVER use
that line of logic.
I'm sure most rapists say the same thing,
I thought in my head but I caved in against my better judgment. For whatever
reason, something inside me said he was better than that. He opened the door for me and as I got in,
said, "Watch your feet."
Point one for the tall dark mysterious stranger.
Seeing as both of us were new to the area,
we had to work together to try and find my dorm. I knew how to walk there, just
not drive there. While we were trying to find our way there, we continued talking.
He told me how he loved to go spear fishing in Miami. As a water lover, I'm not
going to lie, it sounded like a lot of fun. Of course me being me, we end up
talking about food, when I ask him for his favorite type of food. As it turned
out, sushi was his thing and he told me about a few good sushi places in Miami.
This is where clues # 2 and 3 come in.
"Do you like sushi?"
"Never tried it."
"What?! Ok, you definitely have to try. I know this really
good Japanese place here. What are you doing Saturday night?"
"Nothing other than studying."
"We should get sushi there Saturday night."
"Sure, why not."
"What's your number? By the way, I'm not stepping on any
guy's toes when I ask for your number, am I?"
That was clue number three, two being asked
out on what turned out to be my first date.
Yes, I really did not consider it a date at the time. He dropped me off
home. I called my friend to tell him the story of everything that happened,
thinking to myself how crazy coincidence can be. In return for my trouble, I
got an earful on how naive and reckless I was for trusting a stranger. He could
have raped me, kidnapped me, etc. To appease this friend I told him I would
cancel the dinner plans. I had the intentions, the means, and the time but I
would not be telling you this story if that had happened.
Saturday night came faster than I had
expected. Between classes, studying, and hanging out with friends, I had not
had time to call him and cancel our plans for dinner on Saturday night. I
decided not to cancel. I put on a pink top, a pair of jeans, and a pair of
heels, since he was tall enough. Then, I went to the other end of the dorm,
knocked on a friend’s door, and told her the entire situation to be on the safe
side. I was a freshman in college who had been sheltered most of her life. You
never know when you might run into a psychopath like Ted Bundy. Before leaving,
she said "Call me as soon as you get home ok?" It was the beginnings
of a wonderful friendship. Being motherly and protective would define our relationship.
The tall, dark, and mysterious stranger
came on time. He was standing outside next to his car in a nice white shirt and
a pair of jeans. We said hi and hugged, when he did something bizarre. He
kissed me on the cheek. I took a half step back without thinking, surprised by
his forwardness. He noticed and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. It's a Miami thing,
I promise. It's kind of like our way of saying hey."
I made a mental note to ask my friend from
Miami tomorrow. He opened the door for me and once again said, "Watch your
feet." Once he got in, I asked, "Why do you keep saying that?"
He laughed a little and said, "Once when I opened the door for a friend of
mine, I hadn't noticed her foot was still out. I accidently slammed the door on
her foot." He had the most embarrassed look on his face, and I could not
help but laugh. After that the conversation just flowed. Talking to this guy
was easy but more importantly, fun. We got to the Japanese place and walked in.
It was my first time and I can definitely say I was impressed. At this point, I
still did not consider it a date and I had brought money to pay for
myself.
One night, he was dead drunk, and his friends took him home. When they could not find his keys and before his poor friends could react, he crashed his hand through the glass on the side and opened the door. His friends took him inside, cleaned up his hand, bandaged it, and put him to bed. Luckily, alcohol has a way of numbing the pain, at least for a while. He definitely had to go to the doctor when he woke up the next morning.
All good things come to an end as did our
night. He dropped me off home. He had to be up early the next morning (9 or 10am) to go
back to studying. I walked into my dorm, where I saw my favorite RA. She asked,
"So where are you off to?"
"Actually, I'm just coming back from dinner."
"You should go out. You're all dressed up and it's only ten
o'clock."
That got me thinking. Even though I knew he had to be up early, even
though I knew it wasn't the norm/proper, I called him.
"I know you have to be up early but I'm really wide awake and
I'd really rather not just go back to studying. Do want to hang out again
tonight?"
"Sure, that sounds fine. I would say we could come back to my
place and watch a movie but I don't want to put any pressure on you. Let me
call up my friends and see what they're doing tonight."
A few minutes later he called me back.
"I called my friends and they're all going to a haunted house
downtown. Would you like to come?"
"Sure! Sounds good! See you then."
About ten minutes later he was in front of
my dorm again. The haunted house turned out to be rather close and in a rather
unexpected location: a children's museum. They took each floor and transformed
it into a level of the "haunted house," except for the lobby. Upon
arriving, we waited around in the lobby, until his friends arrived. I was
definitely the youngest in the group and not just by a few years. They were rather
nice people. When it was our group's turn to go into the haunted house, I said
a quick prayer, wishing for no clowns. For a children's museum, they did a
great job in transforming it. We had gotten to the last floor, when we finally saw
a clown. Long story short we got through the level WITHOUT my guy punching the
clown.
When we got out of there, he turned to me
and asked, "So my friends want to go to a bar after this. Would you like
to come? I mean, I can drop you off home if you don't want to." It was a
definite yes to that invitation.
We went out to a bar with his friends.
They started a game of pool. He and I were on a team. Coincidentally, I had just
learned to play pool the week before. Talk about fate. Unfortunately, we lost.
Then he asked me, "We're taking shots. Do you want one?" Did I want
one? Of course I wanted one. By the way it was tequila, my former favorite but
that's another story. Afterwards, he had this really surprised look on his
face.
"What?"
"You really don't look like the kind of girl that
drinks."
I laughed and this is when things got
interesting . . .
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